by Tracy Weber
I didn’t speak. For the first time since I’d seen the knife protruding from Dr. Dick’s sternum, I felt a weird sense of peace. Maybe Dharma was right. Even if she wasn’t, her explanation was significantly more palatable than my “the universe is out to get me” theory.
Dharma filled the silence. “I don’t think you should quit teaching yoga to become a cop. I certainly don’t want you to put yourself in unnecessary danger. But rather than feel sorry for yourself, why not embrace all of life’s experiences as gifts? That way the next time you get involved in a murder—and I have a feeling you will—you won’t waste time asking why. You’ll spend your energy searching for the truth.”
Her voice faltered. “I haven’t earned the right to give you advice, Kate, but I hope someday you’ll listen. I think it might help.”
I smiled. “It already has. Thanks, Dharma. I mean it. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”
I hesitated before I said the next words. Not because I didn’t mean them. Because it was the first time I’d said them to my mother. “I love you.”
As I hung up the phone, I felt an odd combination of frustration and relief. If Dharma was right, I would continue stumbling into murder investigations. That was the frustration.
And it didn’t mean that I’d done anything wrong. That was the relief.
I wouldn’t sign up for Private Investigation for Dummies any time soon, but I could at least stop driving myself crazy trying to atone for imaginary sins.
Michael’s car pulled into the driveway. I would come up with a strategy for helping Rachel tomorrow. Tonight, I needed to fess up to my boyfriend. Whether he liked it or not, I was officially involved in another murder.
Eight
My discussion with Michael went surprisingly well. At first I thought he’d been sedated by puppy-breath Valium and the three Guinnesses he drank with his pizza. Then I assumed he was trying to make up for my couch’s destruction. Finally I realized he simply wanted to be a nice guy, and that he hoped John would bring me to my senses.
He should have known better.
Whatever the reason, when I drove south on Aurora Avenue North toward the West Precinct the next afternoon, I had Michael’s blessing. John replied to my message with an email saying he was working all weekend, so if I needed to talk, I could either call him or meet him at the station. I chose to speak face-to-face, hoping my sweet baby browns would convince him to share more information.
Fortunately for me, Sunday parking in Seattle’s Denny Triangle was both free and abundant. I found an open spot in front of my father’s old workplace and turned off the ignition. My body felt unaccountably heavy.
Maybe this isn’t such a great idea.
The rational part of me understood that the police station was simply a physical structure made of steel, cement, and other miscellaneous construction materials—no more powerful than my destroyed couch cushions. But it didn’t feel that way. The sprawling, drab-gray space seemed too much like the dark cavern Dad’s death left in my heart. It reminded me that I’d never again see him inside these cement walls—or anywhere else, for that matter. I’d never have an opportunity to pick an argument with him. I’d never be able to tell him that I loved him. I’d never be comforted by his gruff embrace.
I shook off the sadness and forced myself to climb, step by memory-filled step, the three cement stairs to the entrance. The door, when I opened it, seemed lighter than I remembered. Perhaps I was moving on after all.
John met me in the lobby a few minutes later.
“Katydid!” He wrapped me in one of his famous bear hugs. “Why is it that you can’t stay out of trouble for longer than two minutes at a stretch?”
“I’m not in trouble this time, John. I just need some advice.” We continued our normal banter. “Why do you insist on calling me Katydid? I hate that nickname. It makes me feel like I’m five.”
John grinned. “You’ll always be a cute little Katydid to me. Would you rather I called you Bug?” His expression turned serious. “You know I’m always glad to see you, Kate. But if you came here hoping I’d encourage you to solve another murder, you’re wasting your time. My advice is going to be the same as it was the last three times you poked your nose into an investigation.” I mouthed the words as he said them: “Stay out of it.”
He gestured for me to follow him. “We may as well sit at my desk. I can tell you to mind your own business from there.”
We made small talk as we meandered down the long hallway. “You look good, John.”
He patted his receding stomach. “My new girlfriend’s put me on one of those low-carb diets. If I’m not careful, she’ll make me start exercising.”
“I’m glad. I already lost Dad to a heart attack. I couldn’t bear to lose you, too.”
He squeezed my shoulder. “I know, Katydid. I miss him, too.” We walked the rest of the way in silence.
John pulled out a guest chair and motioned for me to sit. “So tell me. How’d you get mixed up in a murder this time?”
I told him the full story, starting with how I knew Rachel, why I was at the hospital, and how I happened upon Dr. Dick’s body. I finished by telling him the details of my statement to Martinez and Henderson. John listened to me intently, stopping only to ask an occasional clarifying question. When I finished, he lifted his shoulders and stared at me questioningly.
“Katydid, I’m not sure what you expect me to do here.”
“You can start by filling me in on what’s happened since last night.”
John frowned. “I was afraid you’d say that. I’m not working the case, but I quizzed Martinez this morning, since you asked. If you think she and Henderson are going to phone it in on this one, you’re wrong. A well-regarded doctor murdered in a public hospital? The press is all over it. She told me they even got approval for overtime. That’s saying something.”
John was right. Dr. Jones’s murder had been the leading news story since his death. Which might not be a good thing, at least not for Rachel. Martinez and Henderson would be under pressure to make a quick arrest.
John kept talking. “They pushed the autopsy through last night, but the lab is still processing evidence. They haven’t made any arrests so far.”
“Rachel isn’t under arrest?”
John shrugged. “Not that I know of.”
My heart lightened. Maybe I was worried about nothing. “That’s great news!”
John was ominously silent. My chest grew heavy again.
“You know something you’re not telling me, don’t you?”
John rubbed his eyes, whether in exhaustion or resignation, I couldn’t tell. “I hate talking about cases with you, Kate. You know that. It feels disloyal to your father.”
“Dad’s dead, John.”
“You think that makes me feel better?”
I stared at him, refusing to break eye contact.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “If I don’t tell you, you’ll just harass someone else. The autopsy was definitive on cause of death. The victim died of a stab wound to the heart.”
Gruesome, but I wasn’t sure how that implicated Rachel. “I already knew he was stabbed to death, John. I found the body, remember?”
“Killing someone with a single stab wound is harder than you think. It could have been a lucky shot, of course, but it’s more likely that the assailant had a reasonable understanding of anatomy.” He paused. “A nurse, for example.”
“Come on, John. The murder took place in a hospital. The janitor probably has a reasonable knowledge of anatomy. That doesn’t make Rachel the killer.”
“Maybe not, but you’d better prepare yourself, just in case.” John’s smile was kind, but the muscles around his eyes held tension.
“There’s something else, isn’t there?” I asked.
He didn’t reply at first. We stared at each other in an u
ncomfortable silence broken only by the muted voices of distant conversations. After what felt like a century, he sighed. “I shouldn’t tell you this, and I can’t go into the details, so you’ll have to trust me. Martinez and Henderson have physical evidence that will help them identify the murderer. They think it will implicate your friend.”
“What physical evidence?”
John scowled. “I told you, I can’t give you any details. But it’s the kind of evidence that holds up in court. They’re getting a search warrant for your friend’s house. If they find what they think they will, she’ll be behind bars within a day or two.” He leaned forward and peered at me earnestly. “I’m trusting you not to warn her, Kate. It will be my badge if you do.”
“I won’t say anything, I promise.” And I wouldn’t. But that didn’t make me feel any less guilty.
John must have noticed my discomfort. “What are you thinking, Katydid?”
I stared down at my fingers. “I won’t betray your trust, John, I promise. The thing is, I know Rachel. I don’t think she did it, and—” My voice cracked.
“And what?”
I met his gaze again. “I feel responsible. What if my testimony helps put her in prison?”
“You saw what you saw, Kate. You have to tell the truth.” He reached across the desk and took my hand. “I don’t know how to say this, so I’m just going to spit it out. I’m glad that you reunited with Dharma, but you don’t have to emulate her. It’s not your job to cure every social ill.”
“Maybe not, John, but I can’t sit back and let the police arrest my friend.”
“You don’t have a choice.” His tone left no room for argument. “If your friend is innocent—and I’m not so sure she is—the best thing you can do to help her is get out of Martinez and Henderson’s way and let them do their jobs. Will you do that for me, Katydid?”
I considered arguing, but what was the point? John was set in his ways. Nothing I said would change his mind. I’m pretty sure he was thinking the same thing about me.
I didn’t lie to him, but I didn’t tell him the truth, either.
“I won’t interfere with their investigation, I promise.”
I’ll be too busy conducting my own.
Nine
I spent the rest of Sunday scanning the Internet for news of Rachel’s arrest, teaching yoga classes, and laughing at puppy antics. I wanted to convince Martinez and Henderson that Rachel wasn’t their killer, but I wasn’t sure how. So I waited, hoping that Dale would get my message and call with some ideas.
My phone was never more silent. Even telemarketers took the day off. I finally decided that if I didn’t hear from anyone by Tuesday morning, I’d come up with a plan on my own.
Michael had to work Monday at Pete’s Pets, so I stayed home with the pups in the morning and left for the studio around one. I placed Mutt and Jeff inside their crate, told Bella to be a good babysitter, crossed my fingers, and promised to come back no later than three to give them all a mid-afternoon bio break.
I pulled into my reserved parking spot and headed to the studio’s back entrance. Contented cooing filtered from the rafters. “Hey there, Mister Feathers.” The “Mister” part was an obvious misnomer. The gunmetal gray pigeon (who I now knew was female) was currently nesting. But I’d given her that name when I’d saved her life a few months earlier, and I couldn’t bring myself to change it.
“It’s nice to see you, too,” I continued. “You keep those babies warm now.” I checked my watch to make sure that the noon Flow Yoga class had finished, then used my key to enter through the back entrance.
Tiffany’s voice greeted me from the front. “Is that you, Kate?”
She wandered into the yoga room, this time dressed in psychedelic yoga pants and a T-shirt decorated with a cartoon frog balanced in Tree Pose. The teal polish on her nails matched the swirls on her legs.
I pointed to Tiffany’s top. “At least someone you hang out with does yoga.” In spite of her new obsession with yoga clothes, I’d yet to convince Tiffany to try a single Downward Facing Dog.
She ignored my well-placed jab, refolded a yoga mat, and placed it neatly on the shelf.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you today,” I added. “I thought you were working for Michael.”
“I’ve worked so much overtime for him lately that I’m behind on the work I owe you. He gave me a few hours off and sent me here.”
It didn’t sound like time off to me, but I didn’t argue. I’d speak with Michael about giving her some extra vacation days later.
“I told the Flow Yoga teacher that she could go home, since I was planning to clean anyway.” Tiffany gave me an uncertain look. “That was okay, wasn’t it?”
I felt a strange tickling inside my rib cage. If I’d been speaking with anyone else, I’d have sworn it was affection.
“It’s great, Tiffany.” I smiled. “You know, you really are doing a good job.”
She pretended to examine her fingernails, but her cheeks flushed bright pink. “You probably say that to all of your slaves.”
I would have assured her that my compliment was sincere, but the chime on the front door interrupted. When I entered the reception area, Rachel and Nicole hovered near the desk. I rushed toward them. “I’m so glad to see you two!”
They didn’t seem glad to see me. Or anyone else, for that matter. Nicole looked guarded, sullen, and like she wished she were standing anywhere but my studio’s lobby. Bright red blemishes dotted her forehead and nose. Rachel’s eyes seemed hollow, as if hope were a distant memory. Cherished but relegated to another, happier lifetime.
I ignored John’s no-contact order and wrapped Rachel in a firm hug. “I’m sorry about your husband. Are you okay?”
Her body stiffened under my embrace. I released her and stepped back. “Are we okay?”
She smiled, but her voice sounded flat. “We’re fine, Kate. That’s why I’m here. I need to talk with you about what happened.” Her eyes darted to Nicole, then back to me again. “Is there someplace private we can talk?”
Nicole scowled. “She means someplace where I won’t be able to overhear. We wouldn’t want me to know what’s going on with my own life, after all.”
Rachel’s tone flipped from flat to annoyed in a heartbeat. She whipped toward her daughter. “I told you before, young lady. Drop the sarcasm.”
I would have intervened, but I didn’t get the chance. Tiffany stepped between them, facing Nicole. “Let’s get out of here.” She gestured toward me with her thumb. “Who wants to hang out with these old farts, anyway?”
Nicole hesitated. “Go where?”
Tiffany frowned, as if thinking. “Do you do yoga?”
“A little.”
“Let’s go into the yoga room, then. You can teach me how to do Hand Stand.”
Nicole didn’t make eye contact. “Um … no thanks.”
Tiffany shrugged. “You’re right. Yoga’s lame. I have a better idea. I live in the apartments upstairs. Let’s go to my place. I’ll give you a makeover.” She pointed to Nicole’s forehead. “I have a concealer that will totally cover those zits.”
I cringed, fully expecting Nicole to break Tiffany’s kneecaps. Instead, she smiled and nodded yes.
“We’ll be back in a half hour,” Tiffany said. She grumbled to Nicole as the door closed behind them. “Parents suck, don’t they?”
“Sorry about that,” I said to Rachel.
“Don’t be. That’s the first time Nicole’s listened to an adult in months.”
Calling Tiffany an adult seemed like a stretch, but I let it go. I locked the front door, gestured for Rachel to sit on the bench, and poured her a cup of rose petal tea. She cradled the cup between her palms and inhaled, as if drawing sustenance from its sweet floral scent.
“Nicole didn’t have school today?” I asked.
&nb
sp; “I kept her home because of Richard’s death, but I’m beginning to regret it. I swear that girl gets more hardheaded every day.”
“The last few days can’t have been easy for either of you.”
“I suppose. Still, after all I’ve done for her, she should be grateful.”
I didn’t reply. Who was I to offer teenage parenting advice? I couldn’t control two six-pound puppies.
Finally, not wanting to delay the inevitable, I asked my main question. “I’m surprised you came here today. I wasn’t sure you’d still be speaking to me after I … ” I hesitated, not sure how to continue.
“After you ratted me out to the police?” Rachel took a slow sip of her tea before continuing. “We’re fine, really, Kate. I know you had to talk to them.” She shuddered. “I hope they were nicer to you than they were to me. That Henderson cop tore into me Saturday night like a pit bull ripping apart a used tire. I’d just learned my husband was dead. Couldn’t he have given me a day to grieve? Then, as if that wasn’t bad enough, he and Martinez and a half-dozen of their cronies showed up at my house with a search warrant this morning.” She shuddered. “It’s unnerving.”
I pretended to be surprised. “The police searched your house? What were they looking for?”
“How should I know? As far as I know, they’re still searching. I called my lawyer, grabbed Nicole, and got the heck out of there. I came here because … ” Her voice trailed off. “I guess because I always felt safe here. And I wanted to tell you that I’m not angry.”
I hesitated before speaking. “Rachel, I’ll probably get called to testify, so don’t answer this if it might incriminate you. But I have to ask. What were you running from when I crashed into you?”
She stared down at her hands. “I’m sorry, Kate. I can’t talk to you about Saturday. At all. Lawyer’s orders. He’d have a fit if he knew I was here.”
Dale would approve. At least she had a competent lawyer.
